As Sharp as Knives
by Em74
Summary: "Where there's smoke, there's fire'. A wise person once said that, and for me it has proven to be true... People also say that the person who said 'Time heals everything' was wise, too. But they are wrong, seeing as the burned skin on my back hasn't yet to even begin to recover all this time later. And neither has the hole in my heart." The Games that changed everything; Clove PoV
1. Prologue

Where there's smoke, there's fire.

A wise person once said that, though it seems rather simple when you think of it; when something looks dangerous, it most likely is a bad thing to do or the wrong place to be. I'd heard the saying several times, and it was self-explanatory, and I always kept thinking of situations it would apply to. That you should run if you hear someone screaming, because you don't want to be screaming in pain, too. That you should beware of dark alleys, because its easy to hide in the dark, stay in the cover of the shadows. That you should keep away from bad people, because bad people can do very bad things.

So when I saw smoke flooding my bedroom all those years ago, why was it that I remained glued to my bed? That I refused to believe that there was a fire in my home right then?

Was it fear? Was it skepticism? Was it just that I couldn't grasp the fact that all I had and all I knew could be reduced to rubble in a matter of moments?

All I understood was that I would've probably spent those moments pondering why my legs refused to carry me from my bed, would've screamed bloody murder as the fire engulfed me.

This would have happened had my brother not swept me up, ensnaring me in his large, strong arms, and carried me away, my twin in his other arm.

Where's there's smoke, there's fire; and the smoke that clogged my throat then and the fire that singed me that night haven't yet completely gone away.

* * *

_"Eli! Eli!"_

_The horror stricken cry of my sister causes me to recoil, as if I, too, am experiencing the pain that clings to Jayla. I whimper as she shrieks my brother's name again and again, her voice shaky, and press my hand clinging to the fabric at the collar of my shirt harder against my nose, covering my mouth from the smoke, too. And as tears burn at my eyes, I'm not sure if they are result of the smothering, grey vapor that threatens to choke my twin, who hasn't had the thought to cover her mouth yet, or from the fear that clutches at me, the overwhelming sense of despair that envelopes me as willingly as Eli's arms._

_Jayla appears a moment later, tears streaming down her cheeks, choking out, "I can't get him."_

_"What do you mean?" Cassi's bottom lip quivers, "Where's daddy?" _

_My questioning gaze passes over my trembling big sister, as well, and I observe with alarm as her knees begin to knock together, weakly protesting her standing up as the smoke and her sobs increase. She coughs haggardly, and tips to the side as she wheezes violently, "He chained himself to the bed. He star-" she pauses, eyes widening to the point I'm afraid they'll pop as she hacks again, managing through her fit, "He started the fire."_

_And with that, Jayla topples backwards, falling down the stairs._

_And as Eli lunges out to catch her before she hits her head, I am knocked loose from my position in the crook of his arm and slam back against the banister_

_The _burning _banister._

_The pain is instantly crippling as the flames sear my pajama top and burn every nerve in my lower back. I yelp in agony, trying to fight the tears, but I let them flow when I hear the sickening crack of Jayla connecting with the ground at the base of the stairs. I cry harder, unable to move through the blinding pain. _

_I shake as the sobs continue to rack my body, desperately attempting to lurch forward, away from the banister, from the flames licking at my bare skin. Eli snatches me by the wrist, pulling me along with him as he flies down the staircase, trying to shake awake both my sister's who have fell into the state in between being conscious and not; Jayla from the impact, Cassi from smoke inhalation._

_Fear grips me as neither of my sister's awaken, directed more towards Cassi than Jayla, for Cassi is still my little sister, even though it is only by a matter of minutes. I knew she needed to cover her mouth, I knew it! And yet I didn't say anything. I should have told her, I should have told her, I should have told her!_

_As the world blurs at the edges, the smoke further clouding my vision, the same chant echoes in my mind. And somehow I still hear it softly as I, too, slip into unconsciousness._

Even now, the words are still fresh in my head, echoing relentlessly, nagging me over what I should've done.

And they also remind me constantly of what I didn't.

* * *

_The sound of mechanical beeping is what wakes me. A buzz, two synchronized hums, and a steadily sounding ding. Something nearby is making the annoying pitched sounds, and when I come to I want nothing more than to fall asleep again and block out the only noises that break the silence._

_The room is a white, and smells sterile. It's almost revolting how clean the whole place is. The smell, the look. The bright, fluorescent lights shine blindingly down on me, also catching me off guard when I see their reflection in the sparkling tiles. Everything is in perfect order, even the magazines on the rack beside my bed. But I can't touch them, not because of the length of my arms and their distance from my small form, but because my limbs are tied down to the bed, my body restrained. I attempt to roll around, hissing violently as soon as my torso twists even in the slightest. My back protests every movement, refusing to bend the way I want it to go. Squeezing my eyes shut, I turn slowly and gingerly away from the door. It doesn't make the all to clean smell dissolve in the slightest, or my pain; but at least in the darkness my eyelids provide I can try to gather what is happening; try to recollect the memory of the fire so I can understand why my back aches so strongly, and why I am not in my own bed._

_"Hello, dearie." A woman's all-too-cheery voice calls, and, unsettled, I whirl around to face her. I cry out in pain, and the stranger's bright, white smile paired with shining blue eyes both morph into an utterly concerned expression, and she places a hand on the small of back, steadying me as I quake violently. "Careful now! Those bandages were hard to put on. And expensive. So don't struggle against them!" The young woman admonishes me, fixing a stern glare onto her rounded features, a lock of honey nut brown hair falling loose from her tight bun._

_I wriggle around once more, to spite her, before the pain, which before came in small waves, crashes over me in its full and I have no choice but to stop._

_She smiles again, this time it is far more strained, and hands me a cup of water and presses two tablets into my empty palm, "Take these. They're painkillers, and will help with your back."_

_I greedily shove them in my mouth, gulping down the water after, desperate to rid my mouth of the artificial taste. I mumble a quick, hasty 'thank you', not really meaning the words as they slip off my tongue. _

_The woman seems to be able to tell, and can't help rolling her eyes. The blue orbs bulge the next moment, realizing her mistake, and she clears her throat awkwardly, "Yes, yes. You're welcome." _

_I roll my own eyes, trying to disguise it as studying the bland ceiling above us, pretending to focus on the cracks running through it. When I bring them down again, the woman's lips are pressed into a thin, white line, and she hums lightly, trying to fix her face into a smile when she notices I am watching her again._

_"Listen dearie, your older sister is all good. Fixed up just fine. Your twin," she purses her lips, unable to keep up the cheery facade, "That's where we ran into problems."_

Problems. The words would still make me snort, as it was probably the understatement of the century.

But the gravity of the problems that they found, that is what sobers my mood, and what urges me to become far from sober in my state of mind.

* * *

_"What do you want me to do, miss? Rid your little sister of her condition?" _

_The doctor is beyond angry with me. As are the other nurses brought in when the news of my sister drove me to hysterics. That has to be part of the reason they practically chained me to the bed, aside from my age, so thatvi couldn't flee the room or attack them; because I wanted nothing more than to run to my sister and tell her everything will be fine and scream and wail until the doctors agreed to help cure her of her muscular disease. _

_"Yes!" I shriek through my tears, "I don't want her to live like that!" I don't want her to have no control over her limbs when she went into her fits, for her muscles to twitch and protest whenever she tried to use them. She didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve to drift into a pre-stage of asphyxiation which cut off oxygen to her muscles and resulted in this condition. _

_She didn't deserve for me to hold my tongue._

_And I, most certainly, don't deserve to have escaped our burning house with nothing except a third degree burn. _

_"Well, frankly, there's not one damn thing I can do about what you want." The black haired man hisses, frustrated, "Unless your father has left you so-"_

_"Our father was the one who set the house on fire. He obviously didn't give a damn about our well being, and therefore didn't leave us _anything._"_

_I turn my head to see my brother sitting up on his bed. No restraints are on his arms, so groggily he cups his face in his hands, rubbing at his eyes. He shakes his head like a dog, his chocolate hair the same hue as mine getting messed up perfectly, in the way it seems only Eli can. He gives me a goofy grin when he sees me still watching him, crossing his blue eyes, the color my mother's were in all the pictures I saw of her. She died in childbirth years ago. And so did the baby. _

_I usually laugh at my brother's antics, but now I can see they are meant to distract me from the situation unfolding around me. Frowning slightly, I turn back to the nurses and doctor._

_The black haired man, the one mad at me, opens his mouth as if to speak, but a nurse frantically comes flying into the room, clipboard in hand, before a word can fall from his lips. _

_The frantic aura soon grips the nurses that were already here as they merely glance at the papers the brunette brought, enveloping the whole room in a sense of sheer anxiety. The doctor appears unperturbed, but even his voice is slightly shaky as his eyes finally rise from the sheets of paper and opens his mouth again._

_"There have been a change of plans with our course of action with you two. Due to... an entirely too small budget for our old plan."_

_Silence smothers the room, the only sounds being the shifting of the nurses weight, the rustling of the papers, and the mechanical noises that still sound._

_"Well? What is it?" Eli demands impatiently. It's our only trait we have in common. He's the gentle one, I've got the temper and have been known to bite back. He finds relief in jokes, I find it it in silence. He likes to talk, is the epitome of a people person, I'm the social freak who holes away, hiding from the action. But we both have a lack of patience. _

_And I even have the short end of the stick on that, as I have even less than the tiny shard Eli possesses of the virtue._

_So I'm almost driven insane as the nurse's gulp and fret, and the doctor tugs at his collar, trying to speak._

_"It appears that only one of you can... live through the night."_

And here I am, thousands of nights later. But life feels so much more empty without him. Even though we were virtually polar opposites, I know I'll always miss my big brother.

* * *

_"Clove, you are going to have an amazing life, you know that don't you? Everyone will want to know you, to say they even shook hands with the famous Clove. But knowing you, you probably want to be the infamous Clove. The one everyone underestimated because she was small, but still can fight and be the strongest person in the 'll turn down all the asses who want you because you'll be better than them. You'll be better than everyone, but still find it in your heart to let in the important ones. You'll be the best of the best, and when I look down on you with all the people up in heaven, the people as numerous as the stars, I'll get to brag to them all that you're my baby sister."_

_Eli's melodic voice carries over to my ear, rousing me from my little sleep. I yawn big, and roll over carefully, to see the most horrifying sight of my life._

_The needle containing the 'sleeping juice' as the nurse put it, but I still knew it was the offing medicine, was no longer on the tray the lady brought it on._

_It was clutched in Eli's hand, positioned over the vein in his arm. _

_And before I can say a word, he presses down, pushing the needle through his skin and releasing the medicine that will shut down his organs into his bloodstream._

_And then all I can do is scream._

* * *

Time heals everything.

Everyone says the person who said that was wise as well. That heartbreak can disappear, as well as the hangovers you get in the midst if that wretched time. That moments apart from someone you are disagreeing with let's you cool off, and then you can resolve your differences. That all wounds begin to dissolve as the years pass.

But they are wrong, seeing as the burned skin on my back hasn't yet to even begin to recover all this time later.

And neither has the hole in my heart.

* * *

**Review and there'll be many more chapters to come. :)**


	2. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER:**** I don't own the Hunger Games or its characters... Sadly. :'( Suzanne Collins owns both.**

Chapter One:

Strength is the most valued thing in District Two. Everyone seems to have it, but no one seems to know exactly what this virtue that we posses _is_. Many had speculated it had to do with physical abilities, some thought of the way we keep going no matter how tired we are. But there had always been others who suggested it went much deeper than that. To the capability of the mind to process and withstand pain and suffering as well as our bodies. To hold our tongue during a punishment because we are able to take it silently, without protest. The ability to remain level headed, to not be swayed and stay true to ourselves no matter what others do and say. To remain whole as the world seems to crumble around us, to try to block out our pain and make it unbeknownst to anyone else. The ability to walk through hell and back calmly, with a smirk on our face all the while. Not a smile, because smiles are vulnerable. We are too strong to smile.

And even though strength is both physical and mental, it seems that when you try to personify strength, you always think of a burly, tall, arrogant character. But I'm strong; even though I stand no taller than five and a half feet. I'm unbreakable; even though I don't tip the scale past 130 pounds, even when I'm soaking wet. I'm proud; even though I will not give away my advantages to an opponent immediately in a style of overconfidence. I'm strong.

So why is it that no one believes me?

They don't think that the unfortunately sized female who faces them will stand a chance? No, no of course they don't. That is why they call me 'little girl' often throwing in other degrading words when I approach them for a fight. No one thinks that I can do anything.

But perhaps I should thank them for that, for that makes me more lethal than before.

Smile, twisted like only a sadist could manage, creeps onto my expression, and I sip hesitantly at the scalding hot tea as the comforting words settle into my system. I glance out the rain streaked window from my position in the crevice, sitting lazily on the padded cushion on the extended windowsill. My smile slips, and I softly stroke the freezing cold pane, the cool glass chilled further by the rain that sweeps into Two as the springtime ceases. It happens every year, the weeks before the Reaping, and Jayla always said that nature was mourning the loss of 23 innocent children before the Games, and departed before anyone could decipher the message and force it away. Ludicrous, of course, but something about the rain was ominous this year. Something dark, as if evil was possessing it, evil that made even me, the 'Enchantress of Evil' as referred to by Dagin and Corvinus, get that small, nagging, unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach. Ronnie calls it nervousness, but I dismiss that nonsense. My nerves are made of steel, and will not be frayed by anything.

Sighing, I take another sip of my tea and watch the rain continue to pour down, the clouds dissolving into the silky black sky, the normal blue poisoned by the absence of the sun as the early hours of the morning tick by agonizingly slow. And I wait for them to pass, so I can finally emerge from my bland and depressing house into the streets of my disgusting little village.

It's the same schedule everyday, or night I suppose. I slink into my house as the last of the 'safe hours' dissipates, meaning that Palo's Parlor is opening. Samuel Palo was a good man, died about two decades back, and had a vision for the building he bought; a place for poor women to make money. But the poor women were often illiterate, and Palo found it difficult to find any trait of the women who walked the streets looking but not seeing that was worth any money. He found nothing redeemable. Except for our bodies.

He didn't intend for his parlor to get so out of hand I hope, for now drunk men viciously abuse the desperate women. And I wish I could just stop it from happening, but I can't, because the money used to feed my sisters comes from there. Yes, my sisters a prostitute. Make the assumptions you wish, but Jayla is still the nicest person although she lives in a hellhole that is fueled by hatred, and still pure even though she has been taken by so many men.

Tears burn at the back of my eyes, hot and angry tears. Eli could've done much better at this then me. He could've protected them from being plunged into hell so violently. He could've kept Jayla from Palo's. Made enough money to cure Cassi. He deserved to live. Not me.

But I can't make enough money to cure her, so when I slip in at eight o'clock in the evening, Jayla slips out, and I can't prevent her from leaving.

I'll slink into the bedroom I share with my sister, Cassi, and wake her to give her the medicine I pick up from the pharmacy on the edge of our village, run by an especially brave doctor from the city in the center of the District. We live in the corner of the whole land of District Two, a 20 minute train ride from the city. Not to mention the train is a hyper speed train and we have a five mile walk to the train station. They really did a good job of ridding the 'undesirables' from the face of District Two, as no one really knows we exist, except maybe the richer folks who know too much and their spoiled brats who nosed their way into the classified information. And of course there's the occasional news story on diseases that infest our population, but no one cares. No one really knows about us. But here we are.

And every night as I fail to fall asleep, I wonder why we are.

No, not we. I wonder why I am here. And that's why I don't fall asleep. Not because of insomnia, but because I'm afraid. Afraid that when I fall asleep, that when I close my eyes, I'll open them again and another person I love will be gone.

At around two o'clock in the morning, I'll give up the fight to fall asleep. I'll creep into the kitchen and make a simple bit of food and something warm to drink for Jayla, and usually help myself to a cup as well.

So here I am now, sipping tea as I watch the rain pour, waiting for my sister to return home. The window is streaked with water, making blurry to me the buildings that stand outside, yet I can still see the rooftop of Palo's Parlor, as it is one of the tallest buildings around. Another way to emphasize its dominance to me, as it looms high above me. I grit my teeth, and look to the east, pretending I can see the silhouette of the building over 50 miles away; the Training Center.

It's the one place that the girl Clove Flare is feared, the one place Clove Flare has made a name for herself, and I love that. I love feeling in power, and showing all the arrogant asses that being small makes me even more lethal, as I have agility as well as unbeatable skill. That's the one place my smirk has a believable backing to it, and I love the brick building with every fiber of my being. It's where I spend my afternoons and evenings; as mornings are spent with Cassi before meeting up with Ronnie and Jonathan and catching the train into the city, where we get one hour of lessons as every other trainee is at lunch, three hours of working at the Center to make money, and then we have at least five hours in the gymnasium.

Usually only the rich kids can use the gym; but the trainers say we have proved ourselves worthy, as long as we swear to become Peacekeepers one day. Fair enough trade; I don't mind the travel needed for training, nor the killing, and the pay is decent enough. But my hope is to volunteer when I'm 18, and I will fight for my place in the Games, and I will win. And then my sisters and my friends, the entirety of the gang, will live in Victors Village with me, and none of us will want for anything.

Yes. I have befriended a gang. A small one, and it's more for revenge. To kill those who kill the innocent. Ronnie, my best friend, is the smartest in the group, but Jonathan is the most level headed. He's amazing at utilizing the mechanical cross bow, his choice weapon. He therefore has dead accuracy, and can use long distance weapons well. Ronnie is good at all weapons, but particularly enjoys spears, and the look when he used them is so different than his normal expression. His jaw is always clenched, his eyes intense and lacking their shine, and his vibrant red waves seem to stay put when he's holding a spear, the frightening effect enhanced by is height and stature; but Ronnie's intense demeanor is greatly betrayed by his boyish personality, and his inability to focus unless he has weapon in hand. Dagin and Corvinus, the other two who complete our odd quintet, are twins equally matched at sword fighting, a skill they learned before being orphaned.

But none of them touch the knives. I throw the knives. And how good at throwing them I am.

I usually spend the day relaxing with my knives. But the center has been closed for the Reaping Trials, closed off to all but the 18 year olds contending, either females or males, depending on the stronger group in that age class. Obviously the males usually best the females, but this year the volunteer will be a woman, the restrictions of volunteering applying. They're complicated, but the selected volunteer _must _volunteer unless the one reaped is above the age of 15 and trains. Technically they can volunteer no matter who is selected, but that results in severe punishment that no one wants to risk.

Another added rule for us orphans in trade for time to train: we are forbidden to be a part of the Reaping Trials.

But it's not like that's going to stop me from volunteering. I don't give a damn how mad at me they get. I don't need the training from the mentors, as I know what it takes to charm a crowd. I don't need to get sponsored by my mentors, as I can survive on a knife and the Cornucopia supplies. And I don't need to worry about what they'll do to me when I get back, because I'll either be an untouchable victor or in a casket.

_Guess they didn't think that through too much. _I smirk to myself, bringing my cup to my lips and inhaling the tea.

I suppose I won't be wandering aimlessly today though, because the final round of the trials is this afternoon and open to the public; the public being the people of the main city who care enough to come and any and all trainees. Which includes me and Ronnie, who loves the events. He says it tells him how much more he needs to train. Bull. He's one of the best around and he's the only one that doesn't admit it. He probably just wants to see how pathetic the girls are who train, as they don't know pain and how to tolerate it. Not like us kids in the empty corner of the district, officially referred to as the unnamed zone but we call it 59th Street, as do some of the more knowing city folks, as our village is made up of criss-crossing roads that form a complicated grid, and the main road, the one that contains Palo's Parlor and the pharmacy, is the 59th little path, resulting in our name. Of course, there are others who make up their own names for 59th Street. A lot of the badass kids who try to fit as many curses as possible into their vocabulary call it vulgar names, as many of the darkest swears they know jammed into the title of our area. But no matter what you call it, the people in our slums experience more pain daily than the prissy girls fighting in the ring do in a year, more in a week than they do in their lives.

And even though we may be suffering from malnutrition and illness and injuries to the mind and body, that is what makes us strong. Strong. See? I'm strong. And I'll stop at nothing to prove it.

"I'm home, Clo." The door creaks as quietly as my sister's greeting was as she pushes it open tentatively, closing it as rapidly yet silently, as if blocking out all demons, tangible and intangible, from entering our ramshackle little house. I smile weakly at her, my small gesture faltering when she places a minuscule plastic bag on the proportionately sized table that weakly protests as Jayla leans her back against it, scooping up the tea as she sighs.

I eye the bag, and notice how full the plastic is, and I have to fight back the bile rising to my throat. How many did she have tonight to earn that kind of profit, especially when it's so close to the Reaping and her prices considerably drop? I try to keep a steady gaze focused at it, and force myself to count the money.

_10 coins. 15 coins. 25 coins. 30 coins. 35 coins. 45 coins. 50 coins._

50 freaking coins. All earned from prostitution, and even though I know her intentions are the best, I can't help but feel my sister is nothing but dirty right now.

"How many did you have?" I shriek, not caring about the incredulous disgust seeping into my words, as well as the pain I must be inflicting on my sister.

Sure enough, hurt and betrayal swims in her beautiful blue eyes, incredibly unique as they are so crystal, standing out as the only blue orbs in our family, albeit a small one. She growls, fueled with the irritation she harbors towards those who judge her for her nightly occupation, "Why are you asking?"

"I have to stand here all night and fight insomnia because I physically can't sleep and I think of all the horrible shit you might be going through right that second, don't I deserve to know, Jay?" I snarl. She may be fierce when irritated, but it's a well know fact that _I'm _the bitch of this family.

Jayla looks as if she's swallowing her tongue, trying desperately not to speak her mind, and exhales deeply. She averts her gaze and murmurs ashamedly, "9, and they weren't all bad. Only half were drunk."

"_Only half!_" I shriek incredulously, scathing bite to my words. "You are so... So..."

"Please, Clo." My sister holds a hand up, meeting my eyes, "Not now. I just need to sleep."

Of course she needs to sleep. Of course she does. She's never even around anymore. I hardly even know my older sister.

"Fine. I'm going out." I pop up from my seat, stalking across the wood, to be blocked by Jayla, her slim arms out wide. Truthfully, I stopped in front of her. I could've sent my dainty sister reeling backwards with a single slap. I could've ducked around her and ran to the door before she could blink. After all, I'm the elite, trained one. She's the dainty flower. She's the pretty one. I'm not the smart one, nor the sweet one, and farthest from the friendly one I could possibly be. Jayla claimed those long ago, too, sweeping away my chances of being recognized in the Flare family. I've always harbored some jealousy towards my sister; had we grown up in a normal home she would be the sister that everyone loved and I'd be forever known as "Jayla's little sister".

But we grew up here, and being sullen, unforgiving, and stubborn has done me nothing but good, I can't help but feel a twinge of smugness and hateful pride surge through me when I realize she's beneath me.

So she is not the one to stop me. I stop myself, trudging back to my window seat, tuning out Jayla's lecture on irresponsibility and how the men of Palo's could hurt me too, or I am attempting to not listen at least. Some phrases reach my ears, their critiquing tone far too obvious, but I ignore her words and stay silent; until a sentence she means to mutter comes out too loud and it rubs me the wrong way.

"You're setting a horrid example for Cassi!"

I whirl on my sister, seething, "Horrid? _Horrid? _ Perhaps it's irresponsible to go out, I'll admit, but horrid? Who's been the one to carry her when she hasn't had her medicine and her limbs are unresponsive? Who's been the one to go get her medicine every other goddamn week at that pharmacy next to that parlor you want to keep me away from? Who's been the one who has actually shown some of the only emotion I've ever showed to her? Me. That's right. Me."

"I love her too and you know it!" Jayla shrieks, "And who's the one who is partially to blame for her condition in the first place!" My fists and jaw clench simultaneously, and my older sister's eyes widen as she realizes her mistake, "Clo, I didn't mean that! You know I didn't. She's still our baby sister and she's still amazing and I still love her. She knows that too." Jayla's voice noticeably quivers as she ends her apology, and I can tell even she doesn't believe her words.

"You haven't been here for her Jay."

"I know I haven't but..."

"At least a goddamn horrible example is better than none at all." I stride to the door again, snatching my coat off of the rack, not even hesitating to push Jayla out of the way this time around, gently of course. I still love her. Even if I don't know her she's still my sister who helped me through Eli's passing and depression when my soulmate, my twin was too far gone to even speak. "I'm going out. Get some sleep." I slip my arm into the sleeve, bat Jayla's perfectly tanned hand off of me, and push out the door onto the moonlit street, pulling my hood over my head to shield the rain.

The droplets hit my cheeks rapidly, kissing my skin. I let out a low growl as it coats me, and I realize bitterly that this is why my complexion is a pale as a ghost's. I'm either inside or braving the rain or snow or wind, where as Jayla being the perfect sister she is actually has 'fun in the sun' with friends from the _city_ and her skin doesn't turn beet red when she stands outside for more than an hour. And contrary to the popular belief of the snobs at the Training Center, I'm not a freaking vampire. I'm not a midget. I'm not a pathetic little weakling.

I'm Clove Flare. Everyone hates me besides a grand total of 10 people in this world. Everyone fears me, the girl who throws knives. Everyone is frightened by the giant temper in such a little body. Even though they should pity me, they do the exact opposite. But I don't want that. Fear suits a girl who can't feel love much better than pity, because why pity the fool who pities no one?

Fear, hatred, darkness; that's what fuels me. I've never known love. Only from Eli, and I suppose my siblings. Maybe a little of the same feelings from Ronnie. And I love them back in my way. But I've never been 'in love'. They say it can blind you brutally, but other times can make you stronger.

And as the 'Enchantress of Evil', I'm going to say it kills you. That's what love is; it will blind you, make you stupid, and then in vulnerability you will die. It will kill you like I can kill with knives. And that's why I'll never be ignorant enough to fall in it.

My feet hit the cobblestone hard, and I splash through several newly formed puddles on my way to my destination; Ronnie's house. However my route there is far from decided upon, and I add going past the ramshackle bakery, rundown boutique, and antiques shop to my route this morning, adding in several other blocks as well. I don't really have anywhere to be, and truth be told I wasn't planning to leave until 5, but the last thing I wanted to be was home, and eventually I turn up at the doorstep of my best friends small house on the corner 10 blocks from my own.

I pound forcefully on the door. Ronnie's home may be convenient to reach, but many gangs meet close by. I would prefer to spend the least amount of time as possible outside his home in the dead of night, and rapidly pound on the oak so he wakes up and gets to the door as soon as freaking possible and let me into his house.

I hear a door slam inside, a loud yell, a shuffling of feet, and surely enough the door is opened, and I'm yanked inside without a moment's hesitation, and the door is shut behind me once more.

The warm air of the house envelopes me like a blanket fresh out of basking in the sun for the entire day. I sigh contently, and allow the smallest of smiles to grace my lips for an instant before it slips off again. I survey the house quickly, though I could probably walk around the little home blindfolded. I know the couch that is pushed up against the wall with the the peeling peach paint has a weak back left leg, so I usually snuggle into the corner whenever I come over. I know the bedroom is behind the door two down on the right, one of the 4 doors in the house and that happens to be the only one that doesn't lock properly. I know the unusually sharp corner of the counter in the kitchen, the one that's right by the giant stain of honey on the counter from foolish antics when we were little.

"C'mon, Clove. Everyone's in the den." And once the familiar, light tone unadulterated by the obvious lethargy in his movements floods his minuscule mud room, I look up to my best friend.

His vibrant red curls are messy, yet his eyes are as cutting and precise as ever. His skin is the perfect shade between pale and tanned, a light glow to him, his face even brighter as he has his award winning smile on. The smile that dismisses all suspicion, yet underneath lies a brutally scarred, both mentally and physically, being scrambling to find people who will actually care about him. His muscles are toned, his abs perfectly sculpted, as I can see as his shirt is non-existent, and what shows of his legs from the much to short sweatpants from his past are toned as well. He ruffles my hair and scoops me up, laughing his earth-shaking, wonderful laugh.

This is Ronnie. My best friend. The boy I got drunk beside when we were children and now trying to escape the all too graphic reality closing in on us. The young, ambitious man I train beside each and everyday. The only person who has refused to let me fall apart for more than I could fix myself as long as we've known each other. The child I have grown up beside, and we have been through so much. We've gotten to the point where we swear we are on the clouds, claiming we could stretch our hands and scrape the gates of paradise with the boost from the other. And then fell so low, so fast, plummeting towards the edges of hell, only to be pulled up again by the other, even though we are both still hurtling towards the bottom. We've always helped the other out as much as possible; putting the other before ourselves always.

His name is Ronnie; he's my gentle giant; and I owe him my life.

He kicks open the door to his den, and gently places me on my feet again. Of course, I do not remain standing for long, as the only blonde in the room wastes no time tackling me into a bear hug. His arms are familiar, as is his embrace, as the arms that restrain me belong to Jonathan, Jayla's boyfriend. He's nice enough, perfect for the sugar princess that is Jayla. Jonathan understands my frustration with Jayla, but that's only because he thinks everything through to the point of over-examining. He doesn't take anything borderline offensive the wrong way, and he only gets mad when he knows you meant to piss him off. And though he thinks things through, his emotions are intense once he lets them show. He towers over Ronnie by 3 inches, the blonde giant standing at 6 foot 7 inches, and even the twins Dagin and Corvinus who barely scrape past 6 feet tower over my frail frame.

And the twins are the next to greet me. Dagin, the buoyant one, with our secret handshake that becomes more and more complex each and everyday, as a new motion is added each time we complete the handshake, and the more somber Corvinus with a bottle of beer after I stumble my way through the complicated motions. I laugh, and accept it happily, taking a swig as I collapse onto the floor.

"Now, where were we?" Ronnie sheepishly grins as he falls into a seat, too, and Dagin jumps up exuberantly. He smiles knowingly, his bright teeth glinting.

"I believe it is my turn." He sweeps his hazel eyes over the occupants of the room, who meet his gaze with a daring glare. "Corvinus." His twin perks up, his identical hazel eyes twinkling with amusement, "Truth or dare?"

I scoff, and each boy turns a questioning gaze on me, "Seriously? Truth or dare? Rather childish."

Corvinus jumps to his feet, strides across the room, and kneels in front of me, his eyes as cold as steel and his expression unforgiving, "I don't know about you, _Clove. _But I think that we were actually not even children, that we never had a childhood. Never had friends and played games and goofed off and forgot the world; so I'm going to damn well play this." His voice was acidic, and as he returns to his seat he barks, "Dare."

I shift uncomfortably, take another sip of my drink, and twirl the bottle in my hand as Dagin gives Corvinus his dare: spending an hour in Palo's.

"WHAT?" Corvinus roars the next minute, and his drink goes flying, hitting the wall with a clunk and shattering into hundreds of glass shards. "I will not! I don't give a shit about this game!" Corvinus snarls after Dagin points out 'you have to do it, it's part of the game'. "I'm leaving, and frankly don't give a flying fuck whether or not you show up at home!" And Corvinus does leave, closing the door behind him with a ground shaking bang, and Dagin, frantic, runs out after his brother.

Jonathan sighs, and Ronnie growls, "Dagin's such a fucktard." And I couldn't help but agree. Corvinus was known for his passionate hate for the vipers in Palo's, as well as his intense temper, accentuated by Dagin's easy going personality. And he knows better than anyone what sets off his brother. But I only laugh, and actually take a swig of the drink, not laughing so much at the situation that just unfolded, but the situation surrounding the beverage in my hand. Anyone can obtain alcohol, no matter their age, as long as you can walk. I take my lips off the bottle and swallow, and instantly regret it. It makes my head pound, and I see Ronnie's apologetic face.

"Clove, I bought the hard stuff. You can't drink it, no offense."

I whirl on Jonathan after he utters his mocking words, and I place the bottle to my lips and tip it upside down.

I hear Ronnie's anxious cry, see the world jerk to the side, and then fade into black.

-Line Break-

My head pounds horribly, my very skull throbbing as soon as I come to. I groan groggily, and instantly a drink is shoved to my lips, I hesitantly sip even though my eyes refuse to focus so I can see what is it or who is holding the cup, and I recognize it as the remedy for hangovers, and greedily gulp it down. I hear Ronnie's familiar laugh, and as my eyes focus they center on him, and I give him a weak smile as he shoots me a brilliantly bright grin.

"What time's it" I slur, but Ronnie understands, and calmly responds, "It's just past six at night." I jump with a start, and gape at him, instantly feeling bad I kept him from the Center when I know how much he enjoys the outings, and he smiles, "It's alright. I had nothing to do anyway."

"But the Reaping Trials-" I'm cut off by Ronnie's fingers on my lips.

"It doesn't matter. I didn't really want to go."

I roll my eyes at the blatant lie, but I'm too affected by the influence of the alcohol to protest at all. I just sigh, and mumble dejectedly, "Can you take me home?"

Ronnie grins, "Sure, you stubborn girl,", and he scoops me up like I weigh nothing more than a doll, and rushes me outside. The streets are already bustling, and exhausted people coming home from work trudge through the streets, and women of all ages are all heading towards Palo's, and a few men swaggering alongside them. Little children laugh, skipping through the streets, being sure to carefully avoid all the adults, and teenagers, the most normal of us, cluster together. I've always been rejected, but it was put lightly, as they were no exception to those who feared me and my knives. There is murmuring that floods the area, underlying to the joyous cries of the children and the anguished ones as well. We pass block after block, people staring at me because my lack of care towards the large man carrying me, staring at Ronnie for his height and stature, but none are off put by my drunken state, though it is most certainly annoying to me

Occasionally I'll groan and pound on Ronnie's chest and whine about my state of mind, and he'll laugh kindheartedly, hushing me with a, "I know, I know." Only when the fifth time to I complain does he growl under his breath that I'm the biggest lightweight he's ever known, but once again I lack the energy to fight back.

He pushes gently into my house, closing the door with his foot, and he shuffles across the floor. Jayla cocks an eyebrow at me, presses her thin into a tight line, and murmurs something about hoping I'll be okay for the Reaping, and I mentally smack myself. Tomorrow's the Reaping. And I'm hungover. That's just fantastic. And I'm supposed to be the one ready to volunteer in case my sisters are reaped. I growl to myself as Ronnie carries me into my room and slips me onto my cot.

"Sleep well, Clover."

I clutch at my head, let out one last moan, and slip into a dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note**: Gahhh! I haven't updated in foreverrrrrr. I feel sooo bad. Hopefully I'll be updating again regularly? I hope.

So, first: Corvinus' potty mouth. Sorry about that... I just thought since he's a gangster of the slums he's not the one to say "Aw shucks" rather than a swear.

And about Clove's speech about love: Hahaha. Of only you knew it was a Clato. ;)

I'd like to thank **NeonHedgehog**, **Ibbonray**, and **Finnick and Lexi Odair** for their reviews! Check out their stories, they're really good!

Next time... The Reaping! And we spend a bit of bonding time with Cassi in the beginning. :)

Review please! It will make me smile! :D


End file.
